


Time After Time

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-23
Updated: 2006-02-22
Packaged: 2018-08-15 15:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 13,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8062744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Tucker and T'Pol have questions. Will they find the answers, or will time run out for one of them? (08/09/2003)





	1. Sleepless Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: This fic is more enjoyable if you've read "In Good Time" (shameless plug). Several people wanted a sequel to "In Good Time", and after a couple of false starts, which were aggravated by two severe computer malfunctions (including a burned out mother board, for instance) this is what I came up with. If any techno-babble is wrong, I am sorry, but that's not my area.  


* * *

If you're lost you can look and you will find me   
Time after time   
If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting   
Time after time 

~Cyndi Lauper 

 

Commander Tucker couldn't sleep again. It had been four days since the incident, since he had vanished from the Enterprise with Doctor Phlox and Sub-commander T'Pol. The memory of what had transpired during their little unexplainable adventure had not returned. The mystery of it was gnawing at the commander, not letting him get any sleep at night, which in turn caused him to be drowsy while on duty. His subordinates were beginning to notice. More importantly, so was Captain Archer, although he had yet to say anything to his chief engineer.

Trip sighed aloud and left his bed as he thought, "Maybe talking to Phlox would help. Or maybe he could at least give me something to make me sleep."

Tucker tossed on a uniform and trudged down the corridor to sickbay. His body felt exhausted, pushed to the limit, but his mind was wide awake and unhappily so. Everything had been going so well before that incident. A good night's sleep was followed by a hard day's work. Life had an understandable rhythm with which the commander was very satisfied. That rhythm was gone, perhaps forever, and that, as much as anything, pushed Tucker to search for answers to the question: what had happened during those several days when he had been lost, missing, with two of his crew mates?

When the glass doors of sickbay slid open with a muted hiss, Tucker was surprised to see Sub-commander T'Pol and Phlox seated at a table talking. Phlox paused mid sentence when he saw the slightly disheveled Tucker standing in the doorway. Then he smiled.

"Commander, what a pleasant surprise. The sub-commander and I were just talking about our little misadventure. Is this an official visit of some kind or will you care to join us?" questioned Phlox, gesturing toward an empty chair.

"I couldn't sleep." admitted Trip.

"It looks as though you have not slept for some time." said T'Pol coolly. Perhaps she, after having several lengthy discussions with Phlox, thought better of her comment, as she added, "Neither have I."

"Because of whatever happened?" questioned Tucker, relieved to hear that he was not alone.

"Indeed."

Tucker looked at Phlox questioningly, but the doctor smiled and said, "I do not need to sleep as regularly as humans or Vulcans, but I too have been troubled, especially during my off-duty hours when I have more time to think."

"You were just about to recommend a course of action, doctor, when Commander Tucker walked in." the science officer reminded him.

"Ah, yes," sighed Phlox, "I believe I was." T'Pol arched an eyebrow at him and he continued, "Treatments used to restore memory are very experiment and potentially dangerous. There are no guarantees. But they do exist."

"Are you saying we could get our memories back? That we could remember what happened to us?" questioned Tucker in disbelief.

"It is a possibility, commander, although I am not recommending this as a physician. Any such procedure could have grave and lasting consequences." said Phlox.

"I feel like I'm going to lose my mind if I don't figure out what happened. Sign me up, doc." said Trip.

"And me as well, doctor. I cannot perform my duties efficiently with an unsettled mind. I understand the risks and accept them as such." stated Sub-commander T'Pol.

"Very well." said Phlox, sounding as though he were merely conceding to their desire for the treatment. His tone could not hide his understandable trepidation. The good doctor was not one to do things, especially medical things, without the proper amount of good sense and necessity required. While he could comprehend quite well what the two officers were going through, he still winced, internally, at the idea of performing experimental procedures to treat their mental or emotional disquietude. "I will give you both something to help you sleep tonight and inform the captain that you will both be off active duty for several days at the least. Report here at the beginning of your shift tomorrow. That is when we will begin, if neither of you have objections." said Phlox in a very crisp, almost business-like tone.

"That will be most satisfactory." agreed T'Pol.

"Yeah." echoed Trip, who could hardly believe it. He had come to sickbay looking for a treatment for his insomnia, but it looked as though the doctor had the cure. It was much more than he had hoped for.


	2. Morning Decisions

The door chime rang the next morning just as Commander Tucker was running a comb through his hair one last time. He answered almost without thinking about it. When the door whisked open, Tucker was surprised to see his best friend and commanding officer standing there.

"Good morning, Jon. What can I do for you?" he asked pleasantly.

"Phlox has asked me to give you and T'Pol a temporary medical leave of absence. I know that T'Pol has her reasons, but I want to hear yours, Trip." said Captain Archer.

"Did he explain to you about the procedure and everything?" questioned Trip, laying the comb aside and taking a deep breath. He could see it in his commanding officer's eyes, Jon didn't understand.

"Yes, and it sounds damn dangerous."

"You know that I haven't been able to sleep since we got back. Pretty soon the day'll come when I can't do my job. Maybe if I have some answers, maybe that day won't have to come because of this." he explained.

Archer sighed and looked away before telling Trip, "I didn't know that it was that bad."

"How would you like it if three days of your life were stolen? Wouldn't it be hell to you too, Jon?"

"I see your point, but is it still worth the risk? I trust Phlox, but even he says that the procedure is experimental and potentially dangerous."

"I have a tough time explaining it, Jon, but I feel the same way about him, especially here recently. I'm willing to put my life in his hands if that's what it takes to give me some peace."

Captain Archer took a good, long look at his friend and slowly nodded. He knew that peace of mind was worth a lot to everyone, but especially to the young engineer. Tucker valued the simple things in life and that outlook was patently incongruent with sleepless nights and endless questions that could not be answered. Trip had to have his answers and his certainty.

"I guess I understand a little better now." said Archer. He shuffled his feet and asked, "Do you want me to be there?"

"No thanks, Jon. I would rather keep all of this as much between the three of us as possible. I suppose you could say that this thing's given us a special bond."

"Like the Three Musketeers?" chuckled the captain, though his eyes were still filled with an almost brotherly concern.

"Yeah." laughed Trip softly.

"Then let me at least walk you down to sickbay." said Archer, gesturing toward the door.

Two bio-beds had been prepared that morning. A stand containing numerous medical instruments was set up between them. Trip stood there looking at the arrangement for several minutes, considering what he was about to do. The Denobulan doctor, who was standing just behind him, cleared his throat before speaking.

"Are you ready, commander?" he questioned.

"Where's T'Pol?" asked Tucker, turning to face Phlox. "She hasn't chickened out, has she?"

"I have sent her to the mess hall to have something for breakfast. Unlike you, in addition to not sleeping well, she has also neglected her nutritional intake. She should not be long." Phlox informed him.

"What should I be doing in the mean time?" questioned Trip, unconsciously shuffling his feet.

"You seem nervous, commander. Would you prefer to lie down while we wait?" asked the doctor. "Nah, I'm all right. I just want to get this over with." replied Commander Tucker. His shifted his weight from one foot to the other before inquiring, "Can I ask you something, doc?"

"Please."

"Why are you performing both procedures at once?"

Phlox chuckled and explained, "It isn't brain surgery, commander. Most of this will be done with chemicals and compounds and perhaps some electrical stimulation of the hippocampus." Trip frowned. "That is part of both the human and Vulcan brain associated with memory." he added.

Tucker was going to ask a few additional, albeit last minute, questions when the door of sickbay opened to reveal the ever calm and collected Vulcan sub-commander. She arched one eyebrow ever-so-slightly when she saw Tucker. She had anticipated that he would have second thoughts. She had her own misgivings about the arrangement. The risk was great and the reward uncertain. But she had underestimated the determination of her human crew mates on more than one occasion. This was just one more.

"Commander." she acknowledged with that particular brand of stern, forced Vulcan politeness. The she turned to Phlox, who appeared to be calibrating or re-calibrating a medical tricorder. "When are we scheduled to begin the procedures?" she inquired placidly. Trip marveled at her composure.

"Whenever you are ready." replied the good doctor.

As both Trip and T'Pol reclined on their respective bio-beds, he turned to her and said, "Good luck."

"Why are you wishing me good luck, commander? I will have very little to do with the outcome of these procedures. If you want to wish someone luck, perhaps you should wish it to the doctor, although I doubt that this will affect the outcome either." she informed him.

Trip, uncertain if she were joking, if she could be joking, looked up at the Denobulan physician who was filling two hyposprays.

Phlox simply chuckled and said, "Thank you both."


	3. Torrent

Approximately seven hours had passed when T'Pol opened her eyes. At first everything was fuzzy and confusing to her. Then she sat up slowly and looked around, sorting out the flood of information that invaded her normally serene consciousness. She rubbed her eyes and shook her head to get rid of the torrent of remembered sights and sounds that had been dredged up from the hidden depths of her memory.

"These last couple of days, or how ever long it's been, have been real special to me, T'Pol. I know the aliens told us that we'd forget everything once we go back through that temporal rift, but I want to remember this."

"You are being sentimental."

"Don't I know it."

"I have no more control over the loss of memory than you do, Trip, but if it were possible, if I could control the effects of the rift on our memories, I would also choose not to forget."

"That means a lot."

"It means nothing. Nevertheless, what we have had here, this closeness and fondness for one another, we may certainly have again someday in our own time. What has happened here between us may yet happen again."

"Really?"

"It is only logical."

Those had been theirs words, spoken between the commander and herself, and they rang loudly in her mind as she sat there on the bio-bed, sorting it all out. She had called him Trip, of all things. Then T'Pol felt her faced flush. She had shared a bed with him and kissed him! What had come over her? She could understand Commander Tucker behaving as he had. He was, after all, only human. But she was a Vulcan, and she had enjoyed those three days more than anything.

"Sub-commander, how are you feeling?" asked the cheery, but slightly concerned voice of the ship's chief medical officer, who had been watching her since she had awakened.

"It is ... disconcerting, doctor, nothing more." she replied, her head snapping up sharply as he spoke to her.

"Then it worked?"

"Yes." she said, rubbing her eyes again. If T'Pol had been a less disciplined person, she might had plugged her ears as well.

"Is something wrong with your vision?" asked the doctor, reaching for his tricorder.

"No, doctor. Everything is fine." she said, a hint of emotion, perhaps mild exasperation, in her voice.

"I have many questions, sub-commander, but they can wait until you are feeling less out of sorts." Phlox assured her pleasantly.

"Thank you." T'Pol said, finally turning her gaze toward Commander Tucker, who was still under sedation, as she had been. Her stomach tightened as she looked at his peaceful, softly smiling face. Her heart seemed to flutter in her chest as she asked herself in thought, "Is he remembering the kiss? The night we shared? Is he remembering ... me?"

Noticing that she was regarding Commander Tucker with some interest, although he did not question why, Phlox told her, "The commander has yet to regain consciousness. I imagine that he will do so within the hour."

"Do you believe that the procedure will work as well for him?"

"It isn't easy to say, but we will know for sure soon. You are free to rest in your quarters until then."

"No, I think I would prefer to remain here, if that is permissible."


	4. Draught

Time passed at an incredibly slow rate for T'Pol as she sat in a chair in sickbay, mulling over her newly regained memories and trying to assess their repercussions. She had neglected to meditate for several days, mostly due to the stress of the environment and other factors, including surfacing emotions related to Commander Tucker. That was a possible explanation for much of what occurred, but it did not entirely explain why some of those emotions lingered, why she still felt something for the commander.

"I must simply meditate more until this passes." she told herself. But the words were hollow and empty.

Then a terrible idea came into her mind: what if he reciprocated these feelings? She realized that Trip had been nicer to her, more helpful and less irritating since the incident. What if it were some unconscious drive to make her like him? The notion tied her stomach in knots, but the resulting effect was not entirely displeasing. In fact, a very small part of her wanted him to feel the same way, and that frightened her as much as anything else she had discovered.

The sound of a groan from the occupied bio-bed caused her to forget her confusing and illogical thoughts for a moment. Lifting her eyes from the floor, she could see the Trip was awake at last. Their eyes met as she rose to her feet.

"Aw, hell, no! They got Vulcan nurses now?" he blurted out, rubbing his head and squinting at her.

"Commander?" she questioned, frowning sternly at his response to her.

Phlox ambled over to the bed and began running a summary scan of the commander, who was eyeing T'Pol a bit suspiciously and apparently trying to get his bearings.

"I'm no commander. I'm just a cadet ..., ma'am." Tucker informed her, casting a none too friendly glance at the alien doctor who was examining him.

Phlox looked up from his scan with an expression of surprise on his normally smiling and jovial face. "Why do you think you're here?" he inquired hesitantly, choosing not to address Tucker by name or rank.

"I can't recall for the life of me, but I reckon I've been in some kind of accident. My head feels like it's going to split open any minute."

"I am a doctor. My name is Phlox. You are on board the Enterprise." he informed Tucker slowly, filling a hypospray with Anaprovalin for the pain. "Can you tell me your name, the date, and the last thing you remember?"

"Cadet Charles Tucker III, March eighteenth, 2139, and ... I think was suiting up for some training on a small shuttlepod." answered Tucker. He furrowed his brow and asked, "Did I crash? 'Cause if that's the case, I'm real sorry."

"No, you didn't crash, or at least I don't think you crashed." the doctor reassured him, glancing at T'Pol where she stood impassively watching them both.

"Then why am I in a medical facility presumably not on earth?" asked Tucker shrewdly.

"Perhaps we should take this slowly, commander."

"There you go again, calling me a commander. That's practically a dirty word. If you want to call me something, you can try Trip or cadet or, hell, even ensign, if you're so inclined. I am just waiting for graduation, after all."

"Why would that rank be a dirty word?" asked T'Pol.

Tucker looked at her sharply, as though he were trying to restrain himself and trying to remember something elusive at the same time.

"I guess you were never a cadet, were you?" he retorted, not too unkindly.

"It has been a number of years since my training." she answered coolly.

"Say, doc," he began to ask, returning his attention to the Denobulan, "why do you have a Vulcan in your sickbay?" He had wanted to ask the alien about himself, but he could think of a tactful way to do so.

"She is a patient." he replied. The Phlox sighed and told Tucker, "I am afraid I have some explaining to do ..., cadet."


	5. A Familiar Face in an Unfamiliar World

An hour later found Commander Tucker sitting in chair in sickbay, holding his head in his hands as he tried to digest everything that the doctor and the science officer had told him. It was a whale of a tale as far as he was concerned. Then they showed him a mirror. It didn't reflect a gawky twenty-three-year-old with an Academy hair cut and a handsome tan. Instead it showed him a confident looking thirty-something who had been in space for the better part of a year. It wasn't that Trip disliked what he saw. The fellow in the mirror wasn't too shabby looking, even if he was past his prime. He just wasn't what Cadet Tucker had expected to see.

"So this is twelve years in the future, and I'm on board an honest-to-God star ship in deep space?" he asked, rephrasing the question for the fifth time. All things considered Phlox thought he was taking it rather well.

"And you are its chief engineer." added Phlox.

Tucker could not bring himself to repeat that phrase: chief engineer. It sounded too good to be real. It was his life-long dream come true.

"Do you remember Captain Archer?" T'Pol asked him.

They, the doctor and herself, had yet to inform the captain of their ... predicament. Trip just didn't seem ready for another surprise, and she expected Captain Archer to be a bit peeved, to say the least. "I don't know any Captain ..." he began to say. Then he looked up at her and blinked. "You don't mean Lieutenant, j.g. Jon Archer, do you?" he inquired.

"I believe so."

"Jon made it all the way to captain? If that don't beat all!" laughed Tucker, suddenly seeming more like himself.

"Affirmative. Captain Archer is the commanding officer of the Enterprise. He chose you for this mission." explained T'Pol. Commander Tucker was grinning ear to ear by the time she finished the explanation.

He slapped his knee and asked, "Well, where is he? I want to see Jon. I bet he looks prim as a peacock in that captain's uniform."

Phlox seemed to be debating whether or not to call for the captain, but T'Pol walked calmly to the nearest comm panel, and, after pressing a few buttons, said, "Sickbay to Captain Archer. Please report here at your earliest convenience.

The doctor looked at her rather oddly as she returned to her seat as though nothing had happened. The science officer rarely did anything spontaneous and because of that, he did not admonish her for it, despite his own misgivings. How would Cadet Tucker react to a Jonathan Archer so much older than the one he remembered? Would he even recognize him?

The captain felt every eye on the bridge on him as he gracefully left his chair and turned the bridge over to Lieutenant Reed at the tactical station. He did not have a good feeling about what was waiting on him down in sickbay. T'Pol's voice had sounded strained, and that was unnerving enough for anyone who had ever known a Vulcan, especially Vulcan as ... Vulcan as Sub-commander T'Pol. If his science officer were well enough after her procedure to call him down from the bridge, then that could mean only one thing: something had happened to Commander Tucker. Archer shook his head as he waited for the lift doors to open. If it were serious, then Phlox himself would have informed him. Archer was certain of that. But for T'Pol to call him ... it had to be seriously out of the ordinary.

When Jonathan Archer walked into sickbay, the last thing he expected to see was Trip Tucker sitting a chair, speaking rather animatedly with T'Pol and Phlox. Nothing seemed to be wrong. Then Trip glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the door opening and closing. His face was as white as a sheet as he stood up, swaying unsteadily as he looked Captain Archer up and down.

"You've gotten old!" he blurted out, staggering, only to be caught by T'Pol and guided back into his seat.

Archer was too taken aback to answer him with a witty retort. He could only frown and look at the ship's physician uncertainly.

"Commander Tucker has amnesia." said Phlox.

"I thought I told you to stop calling me that."

"Amnesia?" questioned Archer blankly, walking toward his friend. "Trip?" he inquired, trying to get the commander to look him in the eye.

Tucker seemed to relax at the use of his nickname. It made everything seem so much more normal, more real. It connected present context and memory. No matter what else had changed or happened, he was still Trip to Jon Archer, whatever his rank.

"Jon, they tell me that you're a captain and I'm a commander. Is that so?" he asked.

"That's right, Trip." he answered, noticing how Tucker responded favorably to the use of his nickname. "Seniority, you know." he added, cracking a smile.

Trip smiled and shook his head before saying, "I'm guessing it all must be true then. We're on a star ship far from home and I'm the ... chief engineer."

"Of course."

"This is going to take some time to digest, Jon. It seems like I was just finishing my last class on warp field integrity ..."

Captain Archer took a deep breath and looked at Phlox. He could see that the doctor felt uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze. T'Pol was looking at the deck with her hands clasped behind her back, an unusual posture for a Vulcan.

"It will all come back to him, right?" Archer questioned them both, but the Denobulan doctor in particular. "Right?" he asked, raising his voice slightly.

"I don't know, captain. I'm sorry, but I just don't have the answer to that question." replied Phlox, his shoulders slumping.

The sickbay of the Enterprise was rarely crowded. It was a small ship with a conscientious crew who had yet to encounter anything too terrible. Casualties were usually minimal and physician's work load relatively light. That day, as T'Pol and Archer stood watching him perform many tests on Commander Tucker, sickbay felt very crowded to the doctor, especially as he worked under the probing and watchful eye of his commanding officer and cool stare of the Vulcan science officer.

"Still nothing?" questioned Archer as Phlox looked at another scan and shook his head.

"I am afraid that ... Trip ... should rest before I conduct further tests." said the doctor, wincing at the use of the nickname. Tucker had violently objected to being called commander and chafed even at a respectful 'sir' thrown his way by the cordial, yet formal Denobulan.

"I will escort him to quarters then." volunteered T'Pol. Archer and Phlox looked at her oddly. The request was uncharacteristic of the science officer. Even Trip had a quizzical look on his face. "I am retiring to my own quarters, which are not far from ... his." she explained, refusing to call him Trip because of all the emotion-tinged memories that the sobriquet stirred.

"Very well. I am sure that the captain has still more questions for me to answer. You may escort him." said the doctor.

"Follow me." she said curtly to Tucker, who was leaning on a bio-bed and watching the conversation.

"Gladly." he muttered.


	6. Was It Terrible?

When they stepped into the corridor outside sickbay, Trip halted the moment the doors closed behind them. T'Pol turned and looked at him with one eyebrow arched.

"Commander, your quarters are in this direction." she informed him, putting a glacial shield of Vulcan formality between them.

"I have no doubt that they are, but I have to ask you something." he said, shaking his head. Waiting for no prompting, he asked her, "Do people still eat in this day and age? They did in mine, and I'm awful hungry after being poked and prodded for almost four hours straight. I swear, I've been taken apart and put back together again."

"You want something to eat?"

"That would be ideal."

"As an experiment, can you guess which way it is to the mess hall?" she inquired.

Trip rolled his eyes and sighed loudly, but answered, "That a way?" He pointed in the opposite direction of his quarters and, strangely enough, in the appropriate direction.

"Very good." said T'Pol with a barely perceptible nod. "Were you guessing or did you have an intuitive feeling?"

"I sort of had a feeling." he admitted uncomfortably.

"Perhaps you haven't lost all of your memory from the last twelve years. Perhaps those memories still exist on a subconscious level." postulated T'Pol as they walked toward the mess hall.

"That would be better than nothing."

"Indeed, it would be." she agreed.

The mess hall was empty, but, of course, it was long after hours for most of the crew. Despite his professed hunger, Tucker walked straight to the nearest window and looked out at the stars with an expression of wonder on his otherwise tired features. The stars were rushing by; the normally pristine pin pricks of light becoming long and colorful streaks as they traveled at warp. It was an awe-inspiring sight, just like the first time the commander had traveled in a warp speed vessel, an event that he did not fully recollect.

"How fast do you reckon we're traveling?" he questioned, glancing over his shoulder at T'Pol, who stood observing him with her hands clasped behind her back.

"I do not know our exact speed, but I would estimate it between warp 4.2 and warp 4.4." she told him.

Trip gave a long whistle at the numbers and shook his head. He had never heard of a Star Fleet vessel going that fast.

"What's the top speed for this ship?"

"Theoretically, it is warp 5." T'Pol answered. "I thought you were hungry." she reminded him.

"I guess seeing this made me forget about my appetite." said Trip, nodding toward the window and the stars.

"Understandable." conceded T'Pol, walking toward the case of leftovers from the last meal. "There is a salad and some pie ..., Trip." she informed him.

"Perfect, but what about you?" he asked.

"I am not hungry."

"Aw, come on now. I know Vulcans got to eat just like everybody else."

"I will have some tea." she said, acquiescing as her stomach fluttered. Memory or no memory, he was still the same man who had made a fruit salad for her and persuaded her to try tuna.

"Could I get some milk or maybe some soda pop with my pie?" he asked.

"Soda pop?" she questioned evenly. "It's a ... carbonated drink with ..." he began to explain.

"An abundance of sugar and caffeine. Perhaps milk would be best." she said, finishing his statement in Vulcan English.

"All right." he said, watching her remove the dinner selections from the case. "You don't have to do that. I think I could manage."

"You should not exert yourself. The doctor expected me to take you directly to your quarters. If something happens, I would be to blame." she said as an excuse. More honestly, she wanted to repay Trip for the meal he had prepared and shared with her during their misadventure.

"I hardly think it's a crime to feed a hungry cadet." said Trip with a smile. She frowned as she filled their cups at the machine. Was he flirting with her? Or was it merely his sense of humor.

"You are not a cadet." she said stiffly.

He recognized the change in her tone and asked, "Did I say something wrong? If so, I didn't mean to offend."

"It is all right." she said, taking a seat with him at a table near the window. She sipped her tea and kept her eyes on the window and the rushing stars as he ate his rather frugal meal. To him it seemed as though she were brooding. Trip wasn't sure whether Vulcans brooded or not, but something was on her mind and, he surmised, it had something to do with him or his situation.

"You and Phlox never finished explaining about those three days." he remarked. T'Pol turned her head slowly from the window and looked at him without expression. Setting her cup down on the table, she seemed almost to sigh softly.

"The doctor is not in a position to explain. He has no memory of the events about which you inquire."

"And you?"

"I have recovered mine."

"Was it terrible?"

The question was unexpected. She blinked rapidly, her eyes stinging suddenly without reason. She found that she wanted to rub her eyes again, but clasped her hands in her lap instead. Terrible? It was strange that he should ask about the events in that way. It would not have occurred to her to phrase it thus.

"No, it was not terrible."

"What was it like then?" pressed Tucker, leaning slightly toward her across the table.

"I do not believe that a detailed description of the incident is required. Your memory will return soon."

Tucker chuckled and shook his head, but he wasn't surprised by her answer: Vulcans were always cryptic, secretive, difficult to read. This one, no matter how pretty, wasn't any different.

"Well, I can only hope that what I've lost will one day be found." he said, tipping his cup of milk toward her and winking.

A few minutes later T'Pol walked him to his quarters. Something seemed to be hanging over them like a cloud. If the wrong words were spoken, it would rain upon them both. She was reticent to speak, and he felt like he had already said enough. They stood there in awkward silence for a moment before Trip worked up the courage to say something to her.

"Do you want to come inside? You could make sure I find everything okay." he suggested, feeling a slight color creep into his cheeks as he spoke.

T'Pol raised one eyebrow and answered, "I am confident in your ability to find anything that you may need. Your quarters are, after all, not very large."

"Will I see you tomorrow? For breakfast?" he asked, perhaps a little more persistent than the Trip Tucker who had tried to ask her inside less than a week earlier.

"Perhaps." she replied impassively. For a moment her lips seemed to turn upward in the semblance of a smile, but the expression faded quickly.

"I'd like that." he said, a slow grin spreading across his boyish features.

"Good night." she said almost solemnly, making up for the momentary chink in her armor, as she turned to go.

Commander Tucker could only shake his head in confusion. She looked Vulcan. She sounded Vulcan. But no Vulcan he had ever seen had smiled as she just did, or rather, almost did.

"I wonder if she likes me." thought Trip as he walked into the strange, unfamiliar quarters that he was forced to call his own. "I wonder if I like her." he muttered, shaking his head at the sheer abnormality of the situation.


	7. In the Middle of the Night

Tucker was awakened during the night by the terrible cacophony of red alert klaxons sounding. Trip had spent three days and four nights aboard the Star Fleet training vessel Roosevelt what seemed like scarcely two months earlier and knew that baleful sound well. His skin was clammy with sweat as he automatically threw on his uniform, preparing to face the hell of a training drill. Then a shiver went up his spine as he realized that it was most likely not a drill, and that it was for real. He hesitated at his door, hanging his head as he tried to figure out what he should do, where his responsibilities lay.

"To the ship and to the captain." he said aloud, hurling himself through the door as the ship shuddered and pitched. "No, this is not a drill." he thought, catching his balance, though more easily that he had ever done, or remembered doing.

At first he thought the ship was under fire, although he did not understand exactly why that idea occurred to him. Attack had seldom been simulated on any training vessel that he had been aboard. Then he recognized the pattern of pitching and bucking. It was that of an ion storm, and a rather severe one at that.

Instinct took him to engineering with few wrong turns. The corridors along the way were thronged with crewman, only a few panicking, on their way to their stations or to where they were needed. Their faces were unfamiliar, but they were all in uniform. It wasn't like moving through a crowd of strangers, who may or may not have been dependable people. This was a crowd of fellow officers and crewman who shared a similar code of ethics and a similar destiny to his own. Of that, Tucker was certain when he occasionally glanced from their uniforms to their eyes.

As he entered engineering, a crewman called out to him, "It's a ion storm, sir! And a bad one!"

"I thought so." nodded Trip firmly, feeling at once in his element, although a bit scared as well. "How we doing?" he questioned.

"Not well, sir. The hull plating is down to minimal and we can't re-polarize. The ship is taking a beating." was the candid reply.

"Let's see if we can do something about that."


	8. From Bad to Worse

T'Pol, who was again seeking to meditate, blew out her candle and rose to her feet as the klaxons sounded, suppressing a rising feeling of irritation. The universe was against her, throwing every conceivable nuisance her way simply to prevent her from performing her most basic duties as a Vulcan.

"First the commander, now this." she thought as she smoothed the wrinkles from her uniform and left her quarters, knowing that her place, whatever her current mental state, was on the bridge.

"I only wish we had a chief engineer." T'Pol thought to herself as she strode toward the lift, near which the other senior officers and bridge crew members were congregating.

When Archer saw his science officer, he almost turned her away from the lift. She looked tired and uncharacteristically troubled. But this was an emergency, and he wasn't sure that he could afford to send her back to quarters. He wasn't all that certain she would go either.

"T'Pol." he acknowledged as they boarded the lift together.

"Captain." she said in return, clasping her hands and seeming to stand at attention. "What is our status?" she inquired.

"We're in one hell of an ion storm." he explained as the lights in the lift flickered as the ship pitched.

"I see." she said, catching her balance and raising an eyebrow.

When the lift doors opened and they walked onto the bridge, only a handful of crewman were manning stations. It was the night watch, the hours when only a skeleton crew manned the bridge and the more senior officers slept. Archer made his way unsteadily to his chair, struggling against the violent tremors that shook the Enterprise from stem to stern. T'Pol relieved Ensign Knight at the science station and ordered her off the bridge. This was no time to have young and obviously petrified ensigns under foot.

Hoshi and Malcolm scrambled to their stations as well. The communications officer looked a bit pale, but, as ever in a crisis, Lieutenant Reed, who was a natural-born fatalist, appeared to be morbidly calm, but in his element. Archer glanced at the less experienced crewman at the helm and then at the lift. Travis Mayweather, an expert helmsman, could certainly keep the ship steadier, but he had yet to make it to the bridge from a distant set of quarters in the junior officers' quarters. The lights flickered again and Archer made his decision.

"Reed, take the helm." Archer ordered, selecting the more than capable tactical officer to replace the anxious crewman.

Lieutenant Reed had scarcely settled into the chair when lights on several consoles, including the science station, began to flash.

"We have lost deflectors." T'Pol informed the captain, urgency in her voice.

"Drop out of warp!" bellowed Archer, realizing instantly that the Enterprise had just become terribly vulnerable, not just to the storm, but to any debris that the ship might encounter, no matter how small.

Only a split second after Archer felt the ship begin to decelerate, the ship shuddered, indicating an impact, and klaxons began to blare, the lights flickered and grew dim, and the quiet hiss of escaping air was heard on the bridge, despite the cacophony. And in that instant all hell broke loose.

"Captain! We're venting oxygen!" yelled Reed over the din. His heart was pounding in his chest as he thought, "Third time's the charm."

"Evacuate the bridge!" ordered Archer.

"The bridge has been sealed to protect the rest of the ship. We cannot get out." T'Pol informed him, small rips in the veil of her composure revealing the same dread that was openly displayed on the faces of the rest of the bridge crew.

"Then find that leak and plug it! Fast!" barked Archer, springing from his seat to help in the frantic search.

"We are losing power to the bridge." said T'Pol in a loud voice as she left her station.

"T'Pol, Malcolm, get to that leak!" he bellowed. "Hoshi, you have to patch me through to engineering." he ordered the young ensign, who seemed to on the verge of panicking.


	9. A Change of Command

In the engineering section of the ship, Commander Tucker and his engineers were doing everything possible to maintain the ship's systems and restore power to areas that had lost it. The fact that the deflectors were down had barely registered when the ship almost simultaneously seemed to slow and to shake as an object collided with it.

"What was that?" yelled Tucker, crashing into a bulkhead as he moved from one station to another, caught in the current of fast-paced and stressful energy that always seemed to fill engineering during a crisis, swirling crewman from console to console and problem to problem.

"We have registered an impact, sir." said a crewman from a nearby station.

"How bad?"

"The ship is venting oxygen. The primary hull has been compromised and the secondary as well."

"We have to repair that. Get someone on it." barked Tucker, stepping fully into the role of chief engineer.

"We can't, sir. The area has been sealed off." the crewman informed him. The young engineer seemed a bit pale as he swallowed hard and delivered another piece of information. "It's the bridge." he said.

Commander Tucker was just about to say something when a familiar voice came over the comm system: "Trip, are you down there?" asked Captain Archer, his voice just coming through over the sound of various alarms.

Trip dashed to a comm panel and managed to press the right button before he answered his commanding officer, "Yeah, Jon, I'm down here. Are you all right? Are you on the bridge?"

"I'm fine, Trip, for now, but we have a ... situation up here."

"I know. I just heard. Can you evacuate?"

"That's a negative. I am transferring command of the ship to you, Trip, in the event that we can't find and plug this leak."

"Wait a minute. What about T'Pol? Shouldn't she be in charge?" asked Tucker, his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as he spoke.

"She's up here too."

"But, Jon, how am I supposed to, I mean, what am I supposed to do?" he questioned, feeling at that moment very dizzy. Everyone that he felt he knew, that he felt right about as a person, was on that bridge. A sickening sense of self-doubt swept over him as he leaned against the comm panel.

"Get the ship through the storm. I'm counting on you, commander." said Jonathan Archer in a firm tone of voice that Trip recognized only too well.

"Aye, sir." said Trip, his voice catching in his throat.

When the commander turned from the panel, every eye in engineering was on him. The engineering sector was strangely still and quiet. Tucker looked at his people, his eyes moving from one face to next.

"Looks like we got ourselves a rescue mission on our hands." said Tucker with grim humor coming through loud and clear despite the emotional upset. "But first things first. Start moving us out of this storm at our best impulse speed. We won't be able to do anything for the captain until this ship stops shaking." he ordered.

It was almost to his surprise when everybody in engineering, most of whom didn't even have an inkling that anything was wrong with their chief, began working double quick to obey his directive.

"Full impulse, sir." yelled one technician only a few minutes later.

"How long till we're out of here?" he questioned.

"Sixteen minutes, and it will be a rough ride." he was informed as the ship pitched more violently.

"Get someone to try and hold her steady then." Tucker told the technician. "Transfer helm control from the bridge if you can. They got bigger fish to fry up there."

"Yes, sir." nodded the crewman, scrambling toward a console in the corner.


	10. Putting in the Plug

Sato knew the communications system was going to be the next thing to go when she closed communications with engineering and Commander Tucker, who didn't sound quite himself. Malcolm and T'Pol were have little success locating the elusive leak, which was probably all but invisible to the human eye. Archer tugged at her arm as he saw her looking at them.

"Hoshi, with your hearing you might have better luck. I'll try to disable these damn alarms." Archer told her, moving her out of his way.

"Yes, sir." she nodded, taking a deep breath and trying to remember the exercise T'Pol had taught her while aboard a Klingon vessel.

When the sirens ceased their wailing and silence filled the bridge, Hoshi heard the sound of a soft hiss, and she knew exactly where it was coming from.

"Over there!" she yelled pointing to an area just below the right side of the view screen.

Malcolm, who was nearest to the screen, practically leapt for the area to which she had pointed and began feeling the bulkhead. In only seconds his fingertips detected a cool spot and a wisp of air flowing out of the bridge. He pressed his index finger over the hole and breathed a sigh of relief.

"I've got it, sir!" he informed Archer.

"Well, don't let it go, Mister Reed." he said, smiling with relief before turning his attention to T'Pol and Crewman Monroe, formerly the helmsman. "Now we need something to patch that hole with." the captain told them.

"Other than my finger. What am I? The little Dutch boy?" muttered Malcolm uncomfortably.

Hoshi, the only one who caught the remark, giggled and asked, "Does anyone have some chewing gum?"

T'Pol only raised an eyebrow, but Archer grinned and started toward his ready room.

"I think I may have the answer to our dilemma." he said.


	11. Seeking Advice

Most of the engineering staff was hard at work, keeping the impulse drive on-line, piloting the ship, or making general, but necessary repairs. Tucker had noted that the bridge had stopped losing oxygen a few minutes earlier, and for that he was very glad. But, due to design specifications and safety systems, the bridge was failing to repressurize and the lock down on the lift, the only means of access to the control center of the ship, had yet to deactivate. The bridge crew was still trapped, although not in such dire straits as they had been; however, it was only a matter of time before they ran out of breathable air. Given that, Trip considered himself on a timer.

While the rest of staff went about their appointed task of getting the Enterprise through the ion storm, Tucker leaned against the wall by the comm panel located the greatest distance from his personnel. The last thing he wanted was to reveal his memory loss to them. If they lost confidence in his ability as an engineer, it could endanger the lives of the trapped crew members. He did not want to see that happen.

"Trip to Phlox, can I have a few minutes of your time, doc?" he asked over the comm system, shifting uncomfortably as he made the request.

"I have a number of patients, but I can spare just a few minutes if you need them." answered Phlox.

"The captain put me in charge of the ship. He's trapped up on the bridge ... with T'Pol and some other officers. I really need my memory back, doc, if I'm going to have any hope of getting them out of there." Tucker explained.

"I see." said the doctor. The tone of his voice told Trip that he was frowning.

"You gave me something to make me lose it. Can't you just give me something so that I can get it back?" questioned Commander Tucker.

"I am sorry, but two wrongs don't make a right." said Phlox firmly.

"I'm open to any suggestions you may have, doc." sighed Trip, rubbing his eyes with one hand while the other clenched into a fist. He wanted to hit the comm panel in the hopes that it would reduce the frustration that he felt so keenly.

"Captain Archer has faith in you. Just keep that in mind and do your best. Now, I have injured crewmen to treat, commander." said Phlox, giving him the only advice that came to mind and then closing communications.

"I guess it's about time that I look over the specs for this thing." muttered Trip to himself as he left the panel to join his fellow engineers in their work.


	12. Four Hours, Twenty Minutes

The minuscule rupture in the inner hull of the bridge had been plugged with a small, moist piece of chewing gum. It was not something that Captain Archer would be overjoyed to put in a report, but it had worked, at least temporarily. But it still left them with problems to be solved. They had a finite amount of air to breathe on the bridge and no obvious means of letting more oxygen in or getting themselves out. Additionally, their access to the ship's computer was gone and access to communications was limited. Only emergency power kept some of the lights working.

"T'Pol, can you estimate how long our air supply will last?" inquired Archer from the captain's chair. The air on the bridge seemed thinner to him, but he wanted to chalk that up to nerves and his imagination, well aware that it could be either or both and not the sickening reality of the situation.

"I can give you an estimate, sir." said the science officer, who was standing ramrod straight at her post. "It is approximately four hours and twenty minutes until the remaining oxygen becomes unbreathable and we all suffocate."

Malcolm blinked uncomfortably and looked down at the dark tactical station, wondering, "Did I sound like that when I was trapped on the shuttlepod with Commander Tucker? He was a saint not to shove me out the airlock."

"Thank you, T'Pol." said Archer, more than half wishing that he had not asked her. It would have been better not to know.

"You are welcome, captain." she said neutrally.

"What should we do?" asked Hoshi, who had gravitated toward Lieutenant Reed. Despite his rather negative outlook, he continued to exude a demeanor of unperturbable calm and composure.

"I recommend that we avoid conversation and excess motion in order to conserve our limited supply of air." said T'Pol, nodding toward Crewman Monroe as her example. He was sitting in a corner with his knees drawn up to his chest.

"Agreed." said Archer. "Everyone, at ease and take a seat." he ordered, looking T'Pol in the eye as he spoke. She inclined her chin slightly and raised one eyebrow in her uniquely Vulcan way before having a seat on the floor, which was growing slightly cool to the touch by her standards.

Malcolm and Hoshi sat down quietly behind the tactical station with their backs to the bulkhead. The lieutenant could not help but admire her composure. She had come so far in such a short amount of time. No more screaming for Ensign Sato. He smiled at her and lightly patted her hand. A smile touched her lips as she grasped his hand in her own. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she barely suppressed a giggle. He had given her a kiss, a quick peck on the cheek given presumably because she had avowed her confidence in him during trying times. Was it so unbelievable that she might wish to hold his hand during times that were also less than ideal? The shock vanished from his features as swiftly as it had appeared there and he squeezed her hand tightly. It was not unbelievable at all.


	13. Options

In engineering Commander Tucker leaned over a computer console, studying the schematics of the Enterprise NX-01 as though for the first time. He was impressed with the ship, her design and her systems especially, not to mention the engine, which was a real beauty. The ship had ceased shaking the moment they left the ion storm, but he was no closer to remedying the situation on the bridge. A pair of crewman sent to force the lift open had discovered that not only was it locked down, it was also experiencing mechanical failure due to some fused circuits and a burned out relay. Another way in was required, but looking at the specs, Trip wasn't sure such a thing existed, or if it did, that he could find it before time ran out for the five trapped officers.

Grabbing the nearest technician he saw, Tucker pointed toward the schematic displayed on the computer and asked, "Are there any access tunnels leading to the bridge?"

The engineer, possibly the least experienced in the section that night, looked at the chief engineer oddly and told him, "No, sir, the tunnels are all on this level and the deck below us. They run laterally."

"So there aren't any tubes leading up and down from here?"

"A few ventilation shafts."

"Great." said Trip with a quick nod. "Point one out for me, would you?" he requested. The crewman pointed to a narrow duct that ran vertically from a corridor near engineering to the bridge. "That ought to do, I guess. Do you know if it's sealed, crewman?" he questioned, studying the diagram.

"Yes, sir, it was sealed when a loss of pressure was detected."

"Can it be unsealed?"

"Manually, from the inside, sir." the crewman informed Tucker. "But how are you going to get up there?" he questioned.

"I reckon I'm going to climb." said Trip.

"But ... this shaft wasn't designed ... I mean, there isn't any ladder, commander." said the technician, frowning.

Tucker ran his hands through his hair. If it wasn't one thing, then it was another.

"About how long would it take you to install one?" questioned Commander Tucker, fixing the young crewman with a serious, piercing stare.

"Several hours, sir. I don't know how long really." he stammered.

"Well, you know how long we've got. Get you some help and start on that right away. And keep me posted." he said.

"Yes, sir." said the crewman, trying to hide a grin that was threatening to spread across his features in spite of the gravity of the situation. Commander Tucker had never given him a task so important. Maybe the chief saw something special in him. Or so the crewman supposed. "I won't let you down, sir." he promised as he walked away.

"I hope not, but I won't be holding my breath either." muttered Trip to himself as he walked over to discuss repairing the lift with the two crewmen who had originally attempted to override the lock down. He wanted all possible options to be explored.


	14. Panic

Captain Archer glanced at his bridge officers as he quietly shifted in his chair. He had pondered their situation for the better part of an hour and a half as the air of the room became heavier. Was he right to put Trip in charge of their rescue, given his present condition? Archer had almost limitless faith in his friend, but was the loss of his memory, and possibly the loss of his expertise, too much of a handicap? He could not recall a time when Trip had truly let him down. Anyone would have to admit that Commander Tucker was an excellent problem-solver with a splendid track record.

"Captain?" questioned Crewman Monroe in a quavering voice, raising his head from his arms. He was still sitting rather dejectedly in a corner near the communications station.

"Crewman." acknowledged Archer, almost grateful that the imposed silence was broken.

"How are we going to get out of here, sir?" asked the crewman. His voice contained a note of shrill desperation, despite his earlier apparent stoicism, which had probably been closer in description to a panic induced catatonia. "Don't worry. Commander Tucker is on the problem. It shouldn't be long now." Archer reassured him with a smile.

"But you don't know that. He could be just as helpless and clueless as we are." said Monroe, clambering unsteadily to his feet. "Why don't we do something, captain? I mean, we can't just wait until our air runs out and die in here!" he yelled.

"That is enough, crewman." stated T'Pol firmly before Archer could respond. "I suggest that you learn some self-control. Panicking will profit you nothing." she told him, rising gracefully from her seat on the deck.

The crewman strode toward her, intent upon giving the self-righteous and smug sub-commander a piece of his mind, but he never had the chance. The patience of Vulcans while ample was not infinite, and the patience of T'Pol was stretched beyond its limit. Her hand shot out with startling speed as she seized his neck in a pinching motion and squeezed. Monroe's eyes rolled back and he collapsed into a boneless heap on the floor.

"T'Pol?" questioned Archer.

The scene had caused Malcolm to lean around the tactical station to get a better look. He was most impressed, but he had one question for the obviously talented Vulcan.

"Is he dead?" inquired Reed.

"Of course not, lieutenant. He is merely temporarily unconscious. He was wasting our limit supply of oxygen with his hysterics." T'Pol informed him coolly, straightening her uniform and returning to her seat as though nothing had happened.

"You know, sub-commander, you could have tried slapping him first. That usually works too." suggested Archer.

"The nerve pinch is an ancient Vulcan technique. It is both safe and effective. Slapping, as you have suggested, seems to be an inferior remedy in such a situation." she explained.

"You'll have to teach me that trick sometime." suggested Reed hopefully. Hoshi, who still clutched his hand, just rolled her eyes.

"No." answered T'Pol evenly.


	15. The Need for Haste

Commander Tucker, after inspecting the lift for himself, was forced to admit that getting it to work again and overriding the lock down of the bridge in less than three hours was hopeless. The mechanical failure due to the damage caused by the ion storm was too severe to be remedied in the amount of time given. In fact, he estimated that his people couldn't get the lift operating for at least eight hours without a significant miracle. Trip didn't have anything against miracles. He simply doubted that he could work one himself.

With that said and done, Trip found his way to the ventilation shaft where he second team was working to build a ladder to the bridge. Two technicians were fashioning rough ladder rungs and an additional crewman was beginning to fastened them to the interior of the shaft. Trip glanced at their work and nodded approvingly.

"Looking good." he commented. "Can you give me any estimate as to when you'll be done?"

The crewman he had put in charge glanced at the five rungs already attached and said, "Maybe two and a half hours."

"That's pushing it awfully close. They've got about three hours of air if the instruments are correct. I would hate to have the captain brain damaged from oxygen deprivation on the account of a few minutes of miscalculation. Can you hurry it up, crewman?" asked Tucker, deadly seriously.

"Yes, sir." he stammered, eyes widening the commander's bluntly spoken words. "If you can send two more people in here, maybe we could get an assembly line going, sir." he suggested.

"That's the spirit, crewman ..." Tucker said, leaving the end of the statement open in hopes that the engineer would supply his name.

"Crewman second class Marcus Jefferies, sir." he filled in, trying not to let the disappointment show.

"I'll round up a couple of more technicians for this job. You keep at it, Jefferies." ordered Tucker, ducking out of the confining ventilation tube.

"I thought you had worked with him on Titan, Marc. He didn't even know your name." said one of the other engineers.

"I was positive that he remembered me." said Crewman Jefferies, scratching his head and getting back to work. "I guess he doesn't think I'm anything special after all." he thought with some sadness and frustration. The only thing left to do was prove the commander wrong and do the job right.


	16. The Cadet and the Commander

While restlessness was not an emotion, but rather a physiological response to an imbalance if energy and the expenditure of that energy, it was not a feeling that Sub-commander T'Pol enjoyed. Seated on the cold deck of the bridge made her very restless, especially as her thoughts drifted, much against her will, toward the events the concerned Commander Tucker and herself during their three days lost in the past. Part of her felt uneasy as she thought of Trip, but another part, smaller perhaps, would have been pleased to see him, not only because of the situation on the bridge, but also because she felt a peculiar fondness for the man. Of course, she would not have acknowledged that slight affection to him as she scarcely recognized it herself.

"T'Pol, you look like you have something on your mind." commented Archer as he watched her furrow her brow in thought.

"I was thinking about Commander Tucker." she told him coolly.

"Oh?" questioned the captain mildly surprised. He expected the latest calculation of the air supply remaining to them.

"Why does he show such resistance to being called by the rank of commander?" she inquired as it became obvious the he expected her to continue speaking.

"Do we have enough oxygen left for a long story, sub-commander?" he asked, chuckling.

"That is uncertain, captain." she replied.

"I suppose I'll risk it." said Archer, resisting the urge to take a deep breath.

"Very well."

The captain leaned back in his chair and told her, "Trip had some trouble with a commander when he was a cadet. He was aboard a training vessel under the authority of a Commander Alexander Takayama. Trip was acting as first officer of the ship while a younger cadet was appointed to the position of chief engineer. The training mission went very well by all accounts, but when they returned to earth and prepared to disembark, they encountered a problem. In those days shuttle bays were seldom kept pressurized because of the enormous power drain of a warp two engine on all systems.

"It so happened that when they were preparing to board the shuttlepods to return to the Academy, Trip had this suspicion that the launch bay had not been pressurized. Commander Takayama sent someone to check the gauge, but it indicated that the bay checked out for launch. So everyone, twenty-five cadets and the commanding officer, was standing in the airlock, ready to get on a pod and go home, and Trip continued to disagree. He had been a reliable and conscientious first officer up until this point, but for whatever reason, Takayama had a stick up his butt and wouldn't listen." narrated Archer.

"A stick, captain?" interrupted T'Pol.

"It's an expression." sighed Archer before he continued. "Well, Trip put himself between the commander and the hatch to the launch bay and demanded that everyone clear the airlock and they test whether it was pressurized or not. By all accounts Takayama insisted that he would not be questioned like that onboard his vessel, training ship that it might have been, and attempted to push past Cadet Tucker. In response, Trip knocked him cold and evacuated the airlock himself. This, naturally, led to a disciplinary hearing." Archer explained.

"I imagine so." agreed T'Pol. "Was the launch bay pressurized or not?"

"No, as it turns out, the gauge was faulty. Trip simply had very good instincts. He saved the entire crew of the training ship Kennedy from being blown out into space. Now, because he struck his commanding officer, he never received a commendation for his actions, but all charges were waived during the hearing." he answered.

"And Commander Takayama?"

"He still has command of the Kennedy, but he never apologized to Trip or recognized his error in any way. That sort of stuck in Trip's craw. And why wouldn't it? The man was a jack ass." shrugged Archer.

"Indeed." she agreed, raising an eyebrow. It seemed that Commander Tucker had always been bold and rather unpredictable, but sometimes with good results.


	17. Preparations Made

Trip looked up the ventilation shaft at the rungs, which reached a junction on C deck more than a deck and a half away from where the vent opened on the bridge. It was a long way to go in approximately an hour and forty minutes. Tucker moved out of the way as a pair of crewman stepped into the shaft with their arms full of freshly made rungs. Crewman Jefferies nodded as he started up the ladder with the other crewman to hand off the additional rungs to the team that was attaching them. It was the best system that they had managed to devise. Would it be efficient enough to reach the bridge in time? Trip was having some doubts, as were many of his technicians, especially those in the shaft whose eyes drifted upward to the decks above them, and it made them redouble their efforts.

Commander Tucker walked into main engineering and grabbed the nearest unoccupied crewman.

"I think we will be needing a doctor soon. I want to have Phlox on hand when we get up there, if it's at all possible." he told her.

"The lift is still down, commander, but it is possible to reach engineering from sickbay through the lateral access crawlways." she informed him.

"If this weren't such a bad situation, I would never ask him to climb through those things, but having medical personnel here just seems like good sense." said Trip, shaking his head and walking toward the more secluded comm panel for a second time.

"If I didn't know better, I would say the chief was going to have a nervous breakdown before this is over with." said the crewman quietly as she returned to her duty station.

Tucker stood at the panel for a couple of minutes before switching the device on and speaking, "Trip to Phlox, can I have a word with you, doc?"

"Of course. I am always at your disposal." said the Denobulan cheerily.

"How's the casualty count doing?" inquired Commander Tucker heavily.

"All injured crewmen have returned to quarters with the exclusion of those who cannot reach them, such as a few ensigns billeted in the JOQ. Ensign Mayweather is still hanging around, if you want to know." Phlox reported.

Tucker frowned and wonder momentarily why he would want to know, but shook his head and asked, "Then can you come to engineering? I want to have you on hand if you get my meaning."

"I take it that you mean when you find away to free Captain Archer, T'Pol, and the others."

"Yes."

"By you estimation when will that be?"

"If it isn't in the next hour and a half, then I'm afraid it might as well be never." said Tucker, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. It felt awful just to say the words. How bad would it be if his doubts were proven true?

"I understand, commander. Rest assured that I will be there within the hour with a medical team."

"I'm sorry, doc, but all of you will have to come through the access tunnels to get here."

"I expected as much, commander. Just send someone to show us the way. It won't be there first time I have climbed through something of that nature." said the doctor, not at all bothered.

"Thank you, Phlox. You'll have to tell me all about that sometime. I'm be glad to hear it." said Trip. He had not doubted that the good doctor would come. He just believed that sending the chief medical officer of a ship through its underpinnings was an inconvenience and possibly something of an insult.

"Really? Are you certain? No one ever wants to hear my old medical stories. Are you feeling all right, sir?" asked the Denobulan in surprise.

Tucker had the sudden suspicion that the doctor could be unusually verbose, if not downright boring at times. It was an uncanny feeling not unlike dÃ©jÃ  vu. He simply knew it.

Trip cleared his throat and said, "Well, I guess I'll get back to you on that, doc."

"Of course, Commander Tucker." Phlox chuckled.


	18. Waking Reality

At first Captain Archer believed that he had only nodded off for a few minutes. The bridge was very quiet with only the melodious thrum of the impulse engines for background noise. As he lifted his chin, which had rested on his chest as he slept, he realized that his head felt as thought it were floating above his shoulders. It was a disconcerting feeling to say the least. Then he noticed someone standing in front of him.

"Are you all right, captain?" T'Pol asked him apparently for the second or possibly third time. His fingertips tingled as she lifted his hand to check his pulse.

"I was just resting my eyes. I'm fine." Archer insisted lethargically. Then it dawned on him. "Did I pass out, sub-commander?" he asked, realizing that all was not right with the world nor with him. Even the air in the room was wrong somehow, stale and difficult to breathe in.

"I am afraid so, sir. Reed and Sato have lost consciousness as well." she informed him calmly. Her composure never ceased to both amaze and annoy him.

"What about you?"

"The air of Vulcan is substantially thinner than that of earth. I am ... holding my own." she informed him, releasing his wrist only after determining that his pulse was more rapid than was normal. "But you are certainly not." T'Pol added.

"Should I make a final log, sub-commander?" the captain asked her.

"The computer is still not responding. I am afraid that you cannot." she informed him, loosening the collar of his uniform.

"What about you?"

"Me, sir?" she questioned, aware that he was somewhat confused or borderline delirious from the oxygen deprivation.

"Having any regrets, T'Pol? About this mission? Being here?"

"I regret ... I regret only that we will die in this manner. Any other regrets would not be logical."

"All the same ..."

"It would have been pleasant to speak to Trip one more time. I wanted ... I believe I wanted to tell him about the memories Phlox recovered." she admitted, lowering her eyes to the deck, which had grown too cold to sit upon. Captain Archer smiled a little and said, "Depending on how long you can hold out, maybe you will." Then his heavy eyelids slowly drooped and his breathing grew more shallow.

T'Pol turned away from him and clasped her hands behind back as she surveyed the bridge. It felt like a tomb, a sepulcher of cold gray metal that was built for five. She shuddered involuntarily and rubbed her arms to keep them warm. Looking at where Malcolm and Hoshi reclined close together behind the tactical station, she at least acknowledged they were not cold, or not so cold nor so alone as she felt.

"It won't be long now until I am unconscious too." she thought.


	19. The Reward of Their Labors

Commander Tucker was talking about time, volume, and oxygen intake with Doctor Phlox when Crewman Jefferies jogged across main engineering to give him some good news, and Trip certainly looked as though he could use some. The instruments told him that time was nearly up for the bridge crew.

"Commander, we are just installing the last two rungs now. Do you want to open the hatch, sir, when that's done? It should be any minute now." Jefferies informed him.

"Sure." he answered, nodding to Phlox as he quickly followed the young technician. "I'll probably need some help evacuating the bridge, Jefferies. I know you've been giving it your all with that ladder, but are you and the rest of the technicians still up for the task or should I have the medical team come in too?" he questioned.

"Just say the word, sir, and we can have them out in a jiffy." said the crewman, his chest swelling with pride.

"Then follow me on up and remember that we're still on a time table." Trip informed him as he started up the ladder. As he pulled himself up hand over hand through the ventilation shaft, he took every opportunity to steal himself against the possibly that his friend and commanding officer, not to mention Sub-commander T'Pol, could be dead or beyond help already. The hatch of the ventilation shaft was secured tightly, but his hands seemed to know just what to do to open the thing. It was heavy as he heaved it upward, and at first he wasn't sure if he would be able to move it without help from Jefferies or another engineer. But then it seemed to lift itself and move out of his way.

"I thought you would never come." said a faint, but husky voice from the shadows of the bridge. The hatch made a scraping sound as it was moved farther out of his way.

"T'Pol, is that you?" questioned Trip, clambering hastily up the remaining rungs, which were still warm to the touch.

She looked pale to him and very unsteady on her feet. He reached for her, afraid that she might collapse any minute. The air, he could tell, was thin and mostly composed of carbon dioxide. They had come very close to suffocation.

T'Pol permit him to hold her in his arms rather gingerly as both groped for the appropriate words to saw. Looking into her eyes, Trip could see that she was having difficulty focusing.

"You came." she stated as she too looked into his beautiful blue eyes, which were threatening to well with tears.

"Of course I did. Now I have to get all of you out of here." he told her firmly, but gently too.

"The others. Their condition is bad, much worse than mine. They must be evacuated first." she said, becoming slightly more clear-headed and logical again.

Commander Tucker, from his position standing by the duct, clapped eyes on Malcolm Reed and Hoshi Sato first. They looked like a pair of turtledoves in winter. Even though he didn't recognize them, his heart both warmed and ached to see the two of them. Her head fit perfectly against his shoulder, and despite their pallor they both looked at peace and as though they belonged together. Then he glimpsed Crewman Monroe who had never truly regained consciousness after the nerve pinch. Tucker's eyes did not linger there long.

"Jon." he breathed, coughing in the thick air as his eyes rested on the noble figure of Captain Archer, still seated in his chair as though it were a part of him or he of it.

"Sir?" called Jefferies from the opening in the floor. "Can we begin moving them out?"

"Yes, yes, please, do." said Trip hastily. His arm tightened instinctively, protectively around T'Pol's waist as they both stepped toward the captain.

"He is all right, or rather, he will be with proper treatment." she assured him sleepily. With rescue in sight the last of her mental discipline was beginning to fail her.

"Of course." whispered Trip, deferring to her judgment.


	20. And It Happens Again

Moving the four unconscious officer from the bridge on A deck to engineering, a full four decks below them, was a challenge to say the least, but T'Pol would not consider leaving until Hoshi, Malcolm, Crewman Monroe, and Jonathan Archer were all safely evacuated from the bridge, which was only slowly becoming a hospitable environment again.

"I would not wish to ..." T'Pol began to explain to Trip.

"I know. I don't think I could either." he told her with an understanding smile that touched both his lips and his eyes. He glanced down the shaft and asked,

"You ready to go now?"

"After you." she agreed, allowing him to help her into the shaft.

Commander Tucker was very careful as he guided her down the ladder. Every rung was a struggle for her, but no one could have been more dutiful or courteous as the commander.

Then she missing a rung or grew suddenly light-headed just past the C deck junction. Tucker wasn't exactly sure which as he caught her and steadied her, sacrificing his own grip and balance in the process. Before he knew what was happening, Trip found himself pitching backward and his feet slipping from the rung where he stood. He thought he heard someone cry out as he crashed first against the back wall of the tube and then face first into the ladder. A rung caught him under the chin, and the world went out like a light.

A dull buzzing in his ears slowly drew him back to consciousness as though from far away. Commander Tucker felt very disoriented and numb as though he were nothing more than a disembodied mind. Then he began to hear sounds, voices, and feel a slight tingling in his fingers and toes.

"You don't have to stay here, T'Pol. Phlox will alert you ... will alert both of us, if his condition changes." he heard a familiar voice saying. The tones were commanding, but not without certain strains of worry and compassion. The voice was that of a very tired man.

"It's Captain Archer." he realized, feeling a sense of calm wash over him.

"I feel that I should, captain." said an unemotional, but forceful feminine voice that made his heart skip a beat.

"Because he was so heroic when he fell down that shaft?"

"There is nothing heroic about falling from a ladder. If heroism is to be attributed to his actions, and perhaps it should be, Trip should be recognized rather for catching me or more importantly for commanding the ship in considerably unfavorable circumstances, not merely for an unfortunate fall." she said with an edge to her voice. It could be no one else but Sub-commander T'Pol, and taking his part for a change.

"Maybe you're right." chuckled Archer before sighing aloud.

"Of course."

Heavy footfalls retreated from the place where Trip Tucker lay in a questionable state of consciousness. Warm fingertips brushed lightly and gently through his hair. That was enough to give him reason to force his heavy eyelids open.

"T'Pol?" he mumbled as she swiftly drew her hand back. "Don't look at me like I caught you with your hand in the cookie jar." he scolded semi-coherently. She looked bleary at first, but slowly came into focus, and she seemed to be scowling at him.

"The amount of concern that you have caused has been considerable." she noted.

"Aw, shucks, and I didn't know you cared."

An eyebrow shot up at that remark, but she did not bother to rebut the accusation. It was too close to the mark.

"Captain Archer was just here." she informed him, deftly changing the subject.

"I'm not all that sure how much of the stuff going through my head is just dreams and how much is real." he hesitated, following her lead and changing the subject himself.

"Do you recall an ion storm and having command of the ship for approximately four and a half hours?"

"I vaguely recollect that." he affirmed.

"What about the procedure the Phlox performed to restore your memory?"

"Yeah, I remember that too."

"Did the procedure work?" she inquired.

A smile spread slowly over Commander Tucker's features and he said, "I seem to recall being kissed by a certain Vulcan science officer." Raising himself up on his elbows he asked her, "Do you still think something like that might happen again?"

T'Pol leaned toward him and replied simply, "It is only logical, after all, Trip."


End file.
